The Dragon Hunters (17 page)

Ibram managed to get back on his feet. His swings were wild and misdirected. A momentous waste of energy. If Grelic or the others didn’t come to his aid soon the man was going to die under a swarm of more aggressive foes. The Goblins sensed it as well and hung just out of his reach. All they needed was a moment’s distraction and a spear in his belly.

“Grelic, over here!”

The giant spun in time to see Dakeb plunge a borrowed sword through a leaping Goblin’s chest. Kialla and Cron were nowhere in sight, meaning they seriously misjudged the Goblin numbers. A bad feeling entertained him as he tried to decide who to help. One would live, the other would die. Then he saw the Goblin whip master. Larger and more ferocious than the common Goblin foot soldier, whip masters were cruelest of the species. Fitch Iane stood directly in his path. Hope sank.

Uttering foul curses, the whip master backhanded Fitch unconscious and broke their line of defense. Tightening the grip on his sword, Grelic hurried to face him. The whip lashed out and struck his across the ribs. Cold, black eyes stared hungrily back at him. Even in their extreme darkness Grelic found amusement twinkling back. The whip master was taunting him.

Grelic charged. Reaching behind his back, the whip master drew his own blade. They met in a fury of strength and steel. Sparks showered from the force of impact. Grelic recognized that he was outmatched from the beginning. He quickly found himself reeling backwards, parrying blow after blow. Then it happened. He tripped on a small rock and fell. The Goblin howled with delight.

“Scum. It’s the knife for you,” he spat.

The whip master raised his barbed sword high above his head for the killing blow. Grelic kicked with all of his might, catching the Goblin in the knee and ripping tendons and shattering bone. The whip master bellowed in pain and buckled. His sword fell away, giving Grelic the opportunity to snatch his dagger and land on top of the prone Goblin before he could roll away. He plunged the dagger deep into the whip master’s chest, killing him in one stroke.

Nearby Goblins saw their leader fall and lost faith. Others renewed their attack, breaking any hope Grelic had of smashing their spirits. This was going to be a fight to the death. He heard the sudden thunder of many hooves but ignored it, thinking the sound an illusion caused from too much action on the battlefield.

Arrows suddenly filled the sky. Several Goblins dropped after the first salvo. More white-feathered arrows continued to rain down, unerringly striking only Goblins. Grelic thanked whatever god had sent them rescue and ducked low just in case. Cloaked horsemen broke through the defensive line. Halberds and spears slammed into the confused Goblins. The enemy finally broke and fled back towards the opposite side of Gend. War horses trampled them underfoot. Dark blood flew in thick ropes. Bones snapped and broke. Grelic watched a rider spear a Goblin through the back with enough force to propel it through his chest and into the bole of a tree.

The lead rider, his face masked, pointed his sword at the fleeing Goblins and yelled, “Let none escape! Stop them before they can report to their masters!”

Riders thundered through Gend. Grelic kneeled to wipe the blood and gore from his sword and dagger. Exhaustion ate at him. Combined with blood loss, it was all he could do just to stay on his feet.

“Greetings, Grelic of Kressel Tine,” the leader said after reigning in beside him. “I am Faeldrin of the Aeldruin.”

Grelic smiled weakly and passed out. There wasn’t even time to figure out how the Elf knew his name.

War Council

Rentor sat in the royal meeting chamber with a dissatisfied glare that he seemed to have more of lately. His red robes of state stood out against the pale backdrop of aged furniture and brass lamps. There’d been no word from Grelic since leaving Kelis Dur and that bothered him more than he was willing to admit to the others. It left his hands bound. He couldn’t act until he knew who his enemy was and where to direct his army. His enemy, whoever it may be, had him right where they wanted him. Helpless.

His adopted council sat opposite of him. Father Seldis had quickly turned into one of his staunchest allies, offering wisdom and advice from a completely different perspective. Rentor often found their conversations lasting into the early hours of the morning. A fact not lost on Codel Mres. The king found it refreshing to get another point of view on matters. Too often the politicians wrapped themselves up in their affairs so tightly it was almost impossible to find reality.

He mused that this was where his suddenly strained relations with Codel stemmed from. He loved his boyhood friend like a brother, but there was a disconcerting feeling coming from him. He had grown darker somehow. Rentor passed a fleeting glance at his friend, not liking what he saw. Codel’s flesh was particularly pale, giving him a cadaverous appearance. His cheeks were gaunt. His eyes were sunken with heavy, dark bags circling them. He was skinnier than normal and increasingly difficult to talk to. Rentor also noticed how Seldis constantly studied the man.

“They’re late,” Codel hissed.

Any trace of his original cheer and good humor was gone. He’d turned bitter over the last few months. Rentor wondered whether it was because of the impending war they all knew was coming or something much darker. Evil was at work in Thrae, but where? And through whom? Until Rentor had those answers he was helpless to react.

Seldis passively turned his head towards the minister. “Patience. The army is your greatest asset right now. The generals have much to do in order to ensure Thrae is properly defended. They will be here.”

“I have no doubt of that, monk,” Codel spat back. “When they’re summoned to an audience with the king it would be in their best interests to hasten!”

Both men jumped at the sound of a heavy fist slamming into the polished teak tabletop. “Damnation, Codel! I am the king. Do you hear me whining? They’re our first line of defense. Would you alienate the army before the war begins?”

Rebuked, Codel sank back into his red-cushioned chair. “Of course not, sire. Forgive me. Times are particularly stressful of late.”

“For all of us. I agree with Father Seldis. Patience is required if we are to discover the truth behind all of this and focus our defense.”

“Even with the lives of every man, woman, and child in Thrae at risk?” he asked. There was no mistaking the condescending tone.

Rentor stiffened. “Especially for that reason. I’m unwilling to commit my forces in the wrong direction without careful thought. The enemy knows what we’re doing. How or why I do not yet know. Until I can be sure of absolute intelligence, the army stays put.”

Codel fell silent. The embroidered dragon on his right breast almost flared to life in the flickering firelight. Rentor eyed him suspiciously. He’d never understood his friend’s fascination with dragons or other mythical beasts. Codel had been obsessed with tales and written stories of Goblins and wizards since they were small children. Whereas Rentor was content playing the heroic knight complete with wooden sword, Codel pretended to have magical powers.

The study door opened and General Huor walked in with a blustered look. His cheeks were wind burned and weathered. A steel edge tinted his eyes as he marched up to the king. He bore the look of a man with a foul taste in his mouth. Soldiers often joked when he was out of sight about his lack of humor and severely limited personality. The Iron Legions of Thrae viewed their commanding officer unfavorably, a fact not lost on the king.

“Sire,” he said gruffly.

“Huor, please be seated,” Rentor replied.

Codel shot the general a disgusted look.

Rentor ignored the barb and began, “I trust matters are progressing according to schedule, such as it is.”

“As well as can be expected. Some of our scouts have not returned but the majority have nothing significant to report.”

Seldis and Rentor exchanged the same warded glance. The enemy might be inadvertently tipping his hand.

“Which areas haven’t reported back?” asked the king.

Huor unrolled a small scroll from his tunic pocket and studied it a moment before answering. “Mostly from the area surrounding Vorshir Lake. There are two still not returned from the plains south of Qail Werd as well.”

Qail Werd. The great northern forest separating the Darkwall Mountains from southern Thrae. The forest was older than any of the current kingdoms of men, perhaps other races as well. Many great and horrible secrets were kept beneath the thick, double canopy. Rumors of Elves and a dozen other races dwelling within circulated the academic realm though none could say for certain. Qail Werd spanned the length of the mountains, taking several days to cross. Few dared to enter, mostly due to the proximity to the Deadlands.

“Do we know where Grelic and his people are?” he asked Seldis.

The monk quickly replied, “Somewhere around Gend. I have not been able to sense them for some time. It is almost as if my senses are being blocked, but by what I don’t know.”

“Are they still alive at least?”

“Yes, from everything I can tell.”

The king leaned back and let out a long, deep sigh of relief. “Then we still have hope.”

General Huor cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there’s more disturbing news, sire.”

“Go on.”

“Captain Cron is missing. My men have looked everywhere in the city and surrounding area but can’t find him. Under the circumstances I find it suspicious at best. Perhaps he is the traitor we’re looking for.”

Rentor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I find that highly unlikely, General. Cron is the captain of Kelis Dur, hand chosen by myself for his skills and abilities in battle. Have your men double their search efforts. Treachery may have befallen him.”

“That is one possibility, but my men have been searching for a week already. He is not in Kelis Dur,” Huor replied coldly. His distaste for Cron bled through his words.

Father Seldis cut in before harsher words were spoken. “Our enemies may already have him. I know Cron. There is no evil or malice in him. He is a true son of Thrae.”

“Be that as it may, Father, times are increasingly perilous. We cannot simply dismiss the possibility of his betrayal just because he is a friend,” Codel added.

“Very wise words, Minister,” Seldis replied.

Codel fumed at the implied redirection.

“A week? Why am I only now finding out about this, Huor? Tell me why no one thought it important enough to warn the king one of his champions has gone missing?”

“Considering his position we thought it wiser to investigate all possible avenues before bringing it to your attention, sire,” Huor said flatly.

The apprehension in his voice suggested hesitance and regret. He passed a nervous glance towards Codel, so slight none of the others picked it up. Or so he thought. Father Seldis casually rubbed his chin in thought. He’d seen everything and now studied the general carefully. Confronting Huor here was problematic and would only serve to weaken the already fractured council. Seldis decided to wait to find time alone with Rentor before bringing the subject back up.

“I want him found,” Rentor ordered. “My heart tells me some foul deed has claimed him, but if he has turned against us we need to know. Double your scouts, Huor. Keep the army where it is for now, at least until the enemy gives himself away. I will not see this kingdom fail while I still draw breath. If there is nothing else?”

They rose as one and filed towards the doors. Rentor soon stood alone, silently wondering what more he could do to save his people. He’d heard of kings so engrossed with personal power their kingdoms turned to rot and filth. His own father had been such a king. Rentor vowed the day he took the crown to never let that happen again. The fear of becoming like his father kept him grounded.

Father Seldis closed the door behind him and sighed. He’d briefly contemplated going back to speak with Rentor but decided against it. Everything was going according to plan and if he stayed longer than necessary he’d only give himself away. The aging monk slipped down the hall. Huor and Codel were a bit further off, whispering to each other in angry tones. Seldis passed by nonchalantly. Neither noticed the slight hesitation in his gait as he passed. Codel nodded to him coolly while Huor just glared.

An ill feeling reached out to him after he’d gone by. Their private meeting wasn’t something he’d been able to foresee. Seldis looked deep into his soul and tried using his powers to discover more. Nothing happened. He closed his eyes and, using his Mage sight, searched out their auras. Foul shadows encircled their souls. Darkness was at work in Thrae and he’d been blind to it from the beginning. He hurried down the stairs and back to the stables. There was much work to be done and no time in which to do it.

Aftermath

Grelic winced when Kialla tightened the bandage on his arm. She couldn’t help but laugh at the foolishness of it. Old memories resurfaced. She imagined herself running through fields of wildflowers, eager for her father to return. Part of it stemmed from the knowledge that Grelic would be standing right beside him. Always. Constant. Grelic was almost a part of her family and she loved him more than either knew.

“What’s so funny?” he scowled.

She tossed her head back and broke out in laughter. The golden song echoed through the ruins of Gend. “You. The big, fearless warrior who’s been in more battles than any man alive, wincing from the gentle caress of his field nurse. Really, Grelic, I’ve seen you take far worse without blinking an eye.”

“Wine and ale tend to do that.” He grinned, despite his best efforts to remain taciturn. “How are the others?”

“About the same as you, though you managed to take the brunt of the beating. We’re getting pretty banged up. The damnedest thing is Fitch came through without a scratch again. I’ve never been a big believer in luck but he’s got to be the luckiest man alive. Two major battles and not a bruise on him.”

“It is curious,” Grelic agreed. He kept his thoughts private and did his best to ignore his previous vision of her slinking up to him nude and alluring.

Faeldrin and a handful of others had returned from sweeping the village of Goblins. The Elves all wore similar woodland camouflage and were nearly invisible to sight unless looked at directly. Grelic had never seen an Elf before and was surprised to find each bore distinct features separate from the general characteristics of the race. He’d always assumed from tales and hearsay that each Elf was strikingly similar to the next. This was not the case. Elves, he saw, were as different as leaves.

“My apologies for passing out,” Grelic said as the apparent leader approached.

Faeldrin gave a curt nod. “Why were the Goblins hunting you?”

The giant was about to snap a comment about being rude when the Mage stepped forward. The Elves bowed.

“Master Dakeb. We did not know you were here,” Faeldrin said.

Dakeb waved off the formality. “Unfortunately I had no intention of being here. Matters led me to Thrae and here I must remain.”

“We’re damned lucky he came too,” Pregen pitched in. “He helped save our skins a few nights ago against the dark wolves.”

Faeldrin’s golden eyes widened. A murmur rose among the Elves. They’d run across the corpses but hadn’t known any further information, until now. A sense of appreciation rippled amongst the Aeldruin.

“This is ill news, Dakeb. The dark creatures have not been loose in a century.”

“Forces are working against us even as we speak. I have not yet discerned who or what,” the Mage said.

“Tell him about the Dwim,” Pregen led. He wanted answers more than any of them.

“Twice cursed!” Faeldrin gasped. “Evil is stalking this land. I fear for your safety. Such creatures should not have been allowed to exist.”

“King Rentor has hired us to find the source of this threat. We’ve come this far and it is far too late to turn back now. All Thrae depends on what we discover,” Grelic told the Elf. He didn’t like how the conversation progressed.

Faeldrin regarded the bigger man. “More than just your precious Thrae is at stake. My instincts whisper all Malweir is in danger.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Kialla asked. “Granted, these are grave times, but we’ve been able to handle what’s been thrown at us so far.”

“My dear lady, when last these lands knew such peril, the dark Mages nearly destroyed us all. I would not see those days returned. My memories are still too vivid,” the Elf said and then fell silent.

Ibram looked up from his sword in shock. He’d heard Elves were long lived, but to have been there during the wars, three hundred years ago, was inconceivable. Many stopped by the monastery during their travels and he’d been fortunate enough to speak with one or two. Faeldrin and his band were hundreds of years old, possibly thousands. Ibram stared up at the Elf’s sparkling eyes.

“Yes, we were there. All those long years ago. The Aeldruin stood on the battlefield along with your Iron Legions and the riders of Harlegor. Times were different then. Men understood the meaning of allegiance.” Faeldrin looked away, the bemused look he bore fading. “Grelic, I think the tide is against you. If my suspicions are correct, you’ll need all the help you can get. The Aeldruin are at your service if you’d have us.”

“That is a great honor but you may want to rethink the offer,” Grelic replied. He shot Dakeb a guarded look. The Mage nodded back. There wasn’t any point in keeping secrets. Besides, Faeldrin was right. They were going to need more help than their tiny band already had. Dakeb’s premonition of a dragon left him shaken to the core. Perhaps the Elven mercenaries could help.

“Faeldrin, we have a serious problem. There’s a dragon at work, but something far worse as well. I haven’t figured it out yet. None of this makes any sense. Thrae is of no military value. There are no great riches to be had. No hidden treasures in the mountains or forests any longer. These are a simple people content with their lives. Yet look around. The burn marks can only be from a wyrm.” Dakeb frowned as he fell silent.

“There hasn’t been a dragon in this part of Malweir since Kalgor the Wicked attacked the Dwarves of the Bairn Hills,” Faeldrin said.

“Nigh on twelve hundred years,” Euorn commented. The way he said it suggested he was there as well.

The Elf Lord reached down and picked up a handful of ash. “Yet these signs are unmistakable. Dakeb, it’s been a long time since we fought a dragon. Granted, we are mercenaries and our quests have always been noble, but there is only one place large enough for a dragon lair within a thousand leagues of here.”

“Aye. Druem,” the Mage said.

Another murmur spread through the Aeldruin. The very heart of the Deadlands! No good thing could come of this. Faeldrin bade his Elves to quiet down. “There is more you should know. About a week ago we came upon the ruins of another village just like this. Thim, I believe. Similar to this but on the far edge of the Qail Werd. Evil is moving much quicker than you think.”

“Time is running out. I fear our enemy is too far ahead of us. There is some dark game being played in Thrae that I don’t yet know.”

Faeldrin nodded and asked, “You think it’s him, don’t you?”

The old man stared at the Elf for a long time. He felt old, used up. He wasn’t the same Mage that had ended the wars and kept the dark Mages from ruining the world. He was just an old man tired of fighting. Tired of all of the wars and never-ending nights of cold sweat and haunting failure. Dakeb sighed. It was a breath he’d been holding for years. All of his fears and visions of dark realities were coming true. It was a weight he’d been forced to carry since the fall of Ipn Shal, five hundred years ago.

“Perhaps not,” he finally said. “But this smells of his work.”

“Whose work?” Cron asked.

“Sidian, the Silver Mage.”

They sat around three campfires. The Elves talked and laughed among themselves while waiting for the stag Euorn had brought down to cook. Only Faeldrin and the scout sat with the humans. The sun was beginning to dip over the horizon. Long fingers of shadow and night crept out to reclaim the world. Grelic suggested they abandon the ruins before nightfall, an idea they eagerly followed. Such a place could only attract evil.

Kialla took to herself. She wasn’t interested in stories of Elves or Mages. Her body ached from exhaustion. Her hand trembled, slightly but uncontrollably. She grimaced. She’d never been afraid in battle. That in itself was a rare gift. Thousands of men wished for the same though most were little more than bones collecting dust.

“Here, you need to eat,” Cron said gently.

She quickly dropped her hand and gratefully accepted the wooden bowl of stew and hunk of roast meat. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

“Thank you,” she managed between gulps. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.”

Cron flashed her a smile, secretly suspecting there was much more than just being hungry. He’d never fought beside a woman before. Truth be told, he never wanted to. Most fighting men viewed women as liabilities. He’d been no different until he watched Kialla battle the Goblins. She’d held her own and more. Cron had seen men crack and break under less and always passed it off as the unwritten rules of war. But Kialla, she’d stared Lord Death in the eye and made him flinch. Cron was truly impressed and already rethinking his previous opinion. Her being the most attractive woman he’d ever met went a ways in helping as well.

Cron helped himself to a seat and smiled again. He didn’t know why, but she had a way of making him more nervous than staring down a hungry bear. “You’re welcome. With all you’ve been through I imagine it’s easy to forget the simple things like eating.”

Kialla grinned. He made her relax, reminded her of being a little girl again when he came near. “I can’t remember much actually. Both battles are somewhat unclear. Personally I think the Mage is putting something in the stew at night. Whatever it is, it’s working. I haven’t had any bad dreams since he joined us.”

She abruptly fell silent, as if he wasn’t supposed to know the great and terrible secret.

He took the hint and changed the conversation. “Where did you learn how to shoot like that? Not a single bolt missed.”

“My father and Grelic. They taught what they could between campaigns and I practiced by myself when they were away,” she replied.

Cron shook his head with disbelief. “And here I thought little girls picked flowers and played in kitchens the whole time.”

“I happen to be very good in the kitchen,” she said defiantly.

Cron held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sure you are. I wasn’t trying to say anything bad.”

She finished the last bite of meat. “You have to learn a lot when your father is away all the time.”

“Where was your mother?”

“She died when I was still a baby. The fevers took her shortly after I was born. My grandmother came to live with us. She did what she could until it was her time. Then it was just me and my father. Grelic was there, of course. He was like a second father.”

Cron decided to back off a little. She obviously held strong feelings for the old warrior and until he discovered what sort, he was going to leave the matter alone.

“What about you?” she asked.

“This is all I’ve ever known. My father was a soldier, and his father and his father before that. We can trace our military heritage back to the Mage War. Actually, I think most men can. That was the first time in modern history the world needed a grand army.”

“I know the histories,” she interrupted without trying to hurt his feelings. “I want to know about you.”

There’s a good sign
. “I’m the youngest of three sons. The oldest, Maen, serves along the Thed Mountains. Brith lives with a wife and four children on a farm close to my parents’ cottage. I think I was the only one meant for military service. The other two played along with me when I was a child but their hearts were never in it. Like good brothers they let me live out my fantasies. Those were good times. I didn’t have a care in the world.” He laughed. “We’d chase each other around the fields and woods with wooden swords, really just sticks, and then go swimming in the pond behind the house. When I was old enough I joined the army. I did my job as good as I could and got promoted. Now I’m the garrison captain of Kelis Dur.”

“No wife or children for you?” she asked innocently.

“With what time? No wife, though there has been plenty of girlfriends to pass the time.” He regretted it the moment he said it.

Kialla stiffened a little. Not much, but enough for him to wince.

“And no children. Well, at least none I am aware of. I spend too much time at work and don’t have time for much of a social life.”

She asked, “Why do you train so hard? Is the military really worth losing touch with reality? There’s more to life than fighting.”

He finally brought himself to look up into her soft eyes. Euphoria spread, warming him in cold places. Cron struggled to suppress his growing feelings. “I’ve given my life to the sword. Now Thrae needs me. She needs my sword and all those I’ve trained and fought with. The king believes this, so much so that he forbade me from joining you.”

Her mind reeled in surprise. “You knew about us all along. This was no chance meeting, was it?”

“No,” he confessed. “I’m supposed to be directing the defense of Kelis Dur but I couldn’t stay. The ghosts of Reben and Ele haunt me. They died out here, stolen from me under my very nose. I will see them avenged before returning to the capital.”

“You’ll be branded a traitor.”

“General Huor has been chafing to get rid of me since I got promoted. Looks like he finally gets his wish,” Cron said dryly.

“How will you be able to go back? They’ll arrest you on sight,” she said.

“How can I forget about the two brothers I’ve sworn to protect? My heart tells me this quest is necessary. If, just if, we can succeed here, I know in my soul that Thrae will be saved. I can do no less,” he told her.